Driving Force
by Third Person Point of View
Summary: FABLE II STORY: Basically follows the storyline of the game. Little Sparrow's life as the 4th Hero. Someone has to be the incentive to continue her dangerous, life-threatening missions. SparrowXO.C. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

The most surprising part was that she had forgotten.

She'd forgotten how big the buildings were, how loud the stall vendors' offers were yelled out, how many people filled the street… the sights, the sounds, the _smell_. It boggled the mind that a person could smell fresh baked bread and horse manure at the same time. Such opposing olfactory senses should remain completely separate. However, despite her time away and her patchy, muddled memory, one thing was increasingly clear.

Bowerstone had changed.

Crushed between the rush of people on the bridge, she fought to find the clock tower in the center of town. She saw the top of it and marched resolutely on.

"I've encountered a problem."

She jumped as Theresa's voice sounded in her head. Cursing under her breath, she gave her dog a look. He just cocked his head, tongue lolling to one side, happy to be part of such a big, noisy, frantic crowd. He always did love new people.

Theresa continued. "It seems I'm going to be delayed. I'll be at least a week. However, not all is a total loss. You can come to know the city better. In the meantime, you should upgrade your weapons. Some of the local shops may have openings that you could fill. I'll let you know when my business is concluded and I can meet you."

She sighed, running her hand over her hair before scratching the back of her head. She was glad that the guild seal communication that allowed Theresa to speak to her whenever she please was not a two-way transmission. If it had been, Theresa would've been on the butt end of many antsy, jumpy curse outs.

"Find a job," she muttered to herself, looking around.

As she came into the town square, at the base of the clock tower, she paused. The flow of people did not. They just formed two cross-currents around her, conducting their never-ending business. Every once in a while someone stared for a little longer than usual and she would avoid their pondering gaze, feeling her ears get red. It was bad enough for the bard to have loudly professed that she was the one who had gotten rid of Thag in the less crowded entrance to Bowerstone Market, but if someone shouted that information out here, the crowd might crush her to death. Besides, she had just managed to get away from the singing pest only minutes ago.

Focusing on the task at hand, she began to scrutinize all the shops bordering the main square. There was a book shop, an inn, some food stalls, a furniture store… aha! There! A blacksmith. At least she could get some prices on new weaponry. With a low whistle to get her furry friend's attention, she stared off towards the open-faced store. The smell of metal and burning wood and leather invaded her nostrils as she neared. When she got closer, a sign in front of the store announced that the owner was looking for some help in the forge. Luck had finally smiled on her. She could work and buy her weapons all in the same place. She always was one for efficiency.

There was no one in the front as she walked inside. Displayed on the walls were sword, pistols, heavy hammers, cleavers, rifles… all sorts of ranged and melee weapons. She ran an admiring finger over the smooth, shining steel of a long sword.

"Can I help you?" a voice said from behind her.

She wheeled around, surprised, and found a thick-set, toned man maybe an inch shorter than herself. She'd always known she was tall, but now that she was in town, it became ever more apparent. He was wearing a heavy leather apron and his hands told of hard, dirty work. His face, however, was not unkind and he gave her a reassuring, patient smile. Hesitantly, she smiled back.

"I was looking to upgrade my weapons. How much for this sword? And that rifle over there?" she asked, clearing her throat.

"The sword is priced at 750 gold and the rifle at 545. They're of great make, I can vouch for them," the smithy said and winked.

She gave him a smile, but a preoccupied one. That was a lot of money. A lot of money that she did not have. She reached behind her and produced her sword, old and worn, and the decent, but outdated, pistol Theresa had provided her with almost a month ago. "And how much can I get for these?"

The smithy picked up the pistol first, then the sword, examining them before returning them to her. "I can resell the pistol and I'll offer a fair price of 200 gold for it. Unfortunately, the sword I can't sell. The only thing I'd use it for would be to melt it down for the metal and all I can offer for that is 50 gold."

She nodded, dismayed, but not undeterred. "I saw that you are looking for an extra hand around the shop. I'd like to take the position."

The smithy raised his brows and looked at her as if to make sure she understood the work she was asking to undertake. "It's working to forge and straightening swords. Are sure you're willing?"

"A more willing person you can't find, sir. I have no experience, but I do learn quickly and I promise you will not be disappointed." When the smithy just looked her over for another few second as if deliberating, she licked her lips almost desperately. "Please, sir, I beg you. I… I need those weapons. I can trade you these and work to pay the remainder. I'm in town for a least a week and I can devote myself to you fully for that time. Here…" She held out her weapons to him.

Something in the smithy's expression softened and he shifted as if he wanted to embrace her. He merely put his hand over the armaments and pushed them back to her. Her expression fell, destroyed, as he walked towards the back of the store. He came to the register, opened the drawer and counted out some money. "Here is 100 gold for the week to buy your meals. The inn keeper, Rupert, owes me a favor and he'll let you board at no charge. Let's just say you have a standing credit of 250 gold. I'll hold onto the rest of your wages until you leave and then we'll see what weaponry you can afford. I'll have my assistant show you the forge. Come on, follow me."

She stared at him, touched almost to the point of tears at his compassion and kindness, but clamped down hard on her jaw to stop the pesky moistness in her eyes to spill over and followed him out to the back of the first floor, which spread into a hallway with two doors, then the smelting vat and forge outside looked out into the back alley with a roof overhead. The smithy stopped next to one of the doors and pounded.

From inside there was a grumble, then someone yelled out, "What is it, Paul? I'm organizing the books."

"Get out here, I need you."

"I'm organizing the books!" the voice said, irritated.

"I said I need you!" Paul shouted back, just as irate.

There was a loud sigh, then the scraping of a chair across the floor and footsteps. The door burst open to reveal the person on the other side. It was a young man who could not be more than two years older than herself, perhaps 18. He was tall as well, taller than she was by a few inches and muscular. He had been working hard for some time now and his toned, sculpted body was proof of it. He had dark, thick hair that flopped over his forehead and tufted out from behind his ears and thick-lashed, beautiful dark eyes. A thin, white scar ran through the left side of his lip making him look more dangerous than she really thought he was.

"What?" the boy asked, annoyed and not at all intimidated by the older man.

"We've got some part-time help."

The boy's eyes flicked over to her for the first time and she saw something she did not expect. She had thought he would be appalled at the idea of a woman working with them or perhaps angry and annoyed at the inconvenience, but inside she found a curious amusement in the deep, dark orbs.

"This is… uh…" Paul paused, looking at her in askance.

She realized with a start that he wanted her name, which she had yet to give to him. "Spa-" she stopped short, refraining from the old nickname, but the boy cocked a brow, interested. Her cheeks flushed and she felt her ears get hot. She got the impression that he was more observant than people gave him credit for. "Rhys."

"Rhys. Right," Paul continued, oblivious. "Show her around the back and teach her how to use the forge and the smelting pot. I'll take care of the books."

And with that Paul disappeared into the little room.


	2. Chapter 2

The boy tossed the dimly glowing sword into the vat filled with cooling water and recoiled slightly from it as a jet of steam burst up towards his face.

"And that's about it…" he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand and coming out from behind the anvil. "It's not too hard once you get the hang of it, really. Do you want to give it a go?"

Rhys gave a slight nod, walking past him and standing as he had stood before, grabbing one of the sword from the furnace and placing it on the anvil. She raised the heavy hammer over her head and sent it crashing down time over time until the blade was straight. She was very aware that his dark eyes were watching her attentively. She was slower than he had been, by a good bit, but he didn't make any comments. He simply watched as she finished the first two blades. She pushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear and sighed before reaching in for the third sword.

"You've got it pretty down pat," the boy said. "If you do make some kind of mistake, just put the swords back into the furnace and start over. There's no real short cut, I'm afraid. But you'll do fine." He looked her over for a moment and it seemed as if he wanted to ask her something, but decided against it. Instead he gave a small smile that seemed to be directed more towards himself than at her. "Well, if you need anything, feel free to call me. My name's-"

"Liam!" Paul shouted from inside the store. "You've got a customer waiting!"

Liam just looked at Rhys and gave a small roll of his eyes. "Exactly," he said. "I guess I'll see you later."

"LIAM! Customer!" Paul yelled.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" he said and turned, heading into the store.

Rhys watched him for a moment. He walked to the front of the shop and she could just make out a petite, pretty blond waiting for him by one of the display pedestals. She gave a coy, seductive smile, her lips forming into a perfect, pink cupids bow and her green eyes sparkled at the sight of him. Liam pulled a worn rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands as he faced her. Rhys licked her lips and grabbed another sword from the forge, getting back to work.

Over the clanging of the hammer on steel, she could make out parts of their conversation. The girl's tone was high and whimsical, musical almost. She spoke with a certain familiarity that made Rhys believe that she and Liam had known each other well for some time. Very well, perhaps, for her tone had a constant, underlying teasing quality that some girls knew how to control to get exactly what they wanted out of men and have them crawling back for more.

Rhys herself had never had the talent or time for this tone and she'd heard it only a few times before. She couldn't help but eavesdrop on the bits of conversation that came in through the hammer falls.

The girl murmured some kind of hello, which Liam returned kindly. Then he asked a question, something along the lines of what she'd come in for.

"It's my brother's birthday tomorrow," the girl said. "And I wanted to get him something special. A pistol or maybe a rifle. And I know that you have the best guns in all of Albion."

Liam gave a short laugh. "Well, we've got a couple to choose from."

Rhys perked her ears up and listened. She hoped that the girl didn't choose the rifle she'd had her eye on. She wanted that rifle. She needed it… She heard Liam going through the pistols and rifles.

"Ooh… this one is pretty," the girl crooned.

Without being able to control herself, Rhys looked up towards them and saw the girl running a hand over her rifle. A sort of desperate longing hung in her eyes and she paused in her hammer falls without noticing. In that moment, Liam glanced up from slightly behind the girl's shoulder and caught Rhys's eye. Her eyes snapped up from the rifle under the girl's perfectly manicured hand and she caught herself. The girl glanced up and back to gaze at Liam. Even her every move screamed of sex. Rhys quickly dropped her gaze and continued her work, her ears burning and her cheeks flushing slightly.

"How much is this one?" she heard the girl ask and her heart sank.

There was a pause and Rhys was aware the Liam's gaze was still lingering on her. She refused to look back up at the couple. Then her heart jolted and seemed to flutter as Liam replied, "I don't think Benji will like this one. It's a little too cumbersome for him. I think a pistol is the smarter way to go."

The girl practically purred. "You know best, Liam."

After another five minutes, she decided on the most expensive pistol in the store, then asked if she could have it engraved.

"Just my brother's initials and his birthday," she responded after Liam had asked her what she wanted it to say on the handle. "I'll come and pick it up tomorrow."

"Sounds good. It'll be ready."

"See you tomorrow, Liam."

The girl left and Liam disappeared out of Rhys's sight. She heard slight scuffles from the front of the store and she figured he was tending to the displays or the cash register. She focused on her work.

After about another half an hour and three or four swords later, Liam strode into the back room with a pistol in hand and headed to a work bench across from Rhys.

"Rhys," he called her, leaning below the table to grab some tools. "Want to come over so I can show you how we engrave something?"

Rhys landed the final blow on the sword she was straightening and dumped into the vat. The steam clung to her forehead and neck and she did her best to pat herself dry. She walked over to Liam and stood beside him.

"Sometimes a customer will want a purchase engraved with their name or initials or the like. We get that a lot for purchases that are presents," he explained, then took her through the motions of how to go about engraving on the steel and on the different types of handles. He engraved the birthday, which was harder and smaller, and he passed the pistol onto her so she could inscribe the bigger initials.

As she was just finishing the last letter, a "G", Liam said from over her shoulder. "It's quite impressive."

"I'm sorry?" she said, pausing in her work.

Liam straightened as she glanced back at him. "Your rifle. Beautiful machine. A very powerful gun."

Rhys kept her mouth from dropping open and turned to finish the letter as a red blush crept up her cheeks. Her hand trembled slightly and she clamped down on it, stubbornly refusing to lose control. He'd noticed. He saw the look she'd give the instrument and he'd realized that she had overheard his conversation with his lady friend. All the worse, he did not come out and accuse her of her misdeed. Instead, he stood calmly and unaffected, hands in pockets, with an air of perfect nonchalance.

"It's not mine," she said after gathering her wits. "I haven't the gold to pay for it yet."

Rhys turned, gently placing the tools down on the workbench and Liam came around to look at the completed work. He bent so that he was eye level with her, his arms leaning on the table to pick up and examine the pistol carefully. He gave a satisfied nod. Then he looked up staring directly into her eyes, the dark, beautiful orbs mesmerizing.

"Gold or no gold that rifle belong to you," he said. She could not find her voice to retort to such oblivious and overwhelming kindness. Liam stood, taking the pistol with him, and walked toward the front of the shop. He paused and turned to her at the open doorway. "Oh, and don't worry about it being bought by someone else. I hid it for you."

And with a roughish grin he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

She had spent all day at the forge. Just as she had begun to get hungry, a vendor had wandered by with a cart of meat pies and she had bought two for herself. Pausing for a couple of minutes, she ate one, throwing a portion of it to Dex and pocketing the other for later. A little after closing, Liam came in, organizing things to leave. As he was about to whisk out of the door, he turned to her.

"Long day. You must be tired. And hungry," he said.

Rhys threw the sword into the cooling vat with a sigh and glanced up at him for a moment before dropping her gaze. "I think I'll stay a little longer."

Liam was standing in the open doorway, bent over and affectionately patting Dex's exposed belly. He stood, leaned against the doorjamb, and raised a brow. "You aren't going to eat?"

In response she pulled the small meat pie out of her pocket and held it up to demonstrate her quick, conservative supper. Liam said nothing, but cleared his throat as if to say something.

"Well," he said, turned and heading out the door. "Make sure to put out the fire in the forge before you leave. And don't work too late. You'll feel like hell in the morning."

Rhys worked into the night, making an impressive dent in the pile of swords to be forged and realigned. It was well after midnight when she stopped, too exhausted to push herself any further. She extinguished the crackling flames in the forge, a squeal of steam lashing out at her. Finally, she turned, blurry-eyed, to her dog and gave a nod of her head.

"Come on, Dex," she whispered, exhausted.

The dog stretched, yawning lazily and followed behind her. She circled around the back of the blacksmith's and came out onto a tiny side alley that led to the main square and, consequently, the door to the inn. Rhys walked inside and made her way to the bartender who was cleaning glasses and keeping a conservatively watchful eye on the two drunkards left at the bar tables.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm looking for Rupert."

"You found him," he responded with a quick and easy smile. "What can I do you for?"

"Paul, the blacksmith, told me to come to you. He says that you…" she didn't know how to put it lightly.

Rupert glanced at her, amused. "Owed him a favor? No need to beat around the bush. I don't take offense to words. Of course. I'm guessing he promised you board?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be in town for a week or so."

"Right. Well." He set the spotless mug down and turned to come around from behind the bar. Leading her to the top of the stairs, he pointed to the second story of the building. Handing her a key, he said, "It's on the second, third from the right at the top of the stairs. Hope you find it comfortable."

Rhys took the key. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it. And please… don't call me sir," Rupert responded with another dazzling smile.

Patting her thigh to call Dex, she headed up the stairs. The dog galavanted up in front, excited to be somewhere new. She made her way to the room, unlocking and finding a small room with two dressers to put her things a rug and a bed that looked, at this point of the night, heavenly. Dex bound into the room and began sniffing instantly. Rhys closed the door and bolted it, undressing tiredly. She flopped onto the bed.

It was more heavenly than she could've imagined.

Only faintly aware that Dex was settling down on the broad, plush rug, Rhys drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Liam's parting words rang in Rhys's ears as she quickly bathed herself in the community bath house of the inn. She did feel like hell. It was murder to unglue her eyelids and function normally. But at least she could bathe. The water was hot, but rapidly cooling and she did not want to take an ice cold bath. She wanted to take advantage of the benefit of the hot water, a luxury she was so often deprived of.

She arrived at the blacksmith's just as Paul as coming down the stairs from his flat above the shop. He gave her a smile, chirped a good morning, and asked if she wanted some porridge. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything but that tiny meat pie last night. Paul didn't wait for her to answer, simply pushed her up the stairs, told her to help herself to the pot on the stove, and that there were biscuits in the bread box for Dex.

She ate quickly, handing a couple of biscuits to her faithful dog, and hurried downstairs to post herself at the increasingly familiar forge. She found that yesterday's long, arduous day had helped her pound out a rhythm that increased her speed. The hammer, a heavy burden just the day before, was now an extension of her arm, though still a crude, ruddy one. Today, she worked quicker. It wasn't until after noon, just after she'd bought two more meat pies from the cart vendor, that she saw Liam. He had been dividing his time between the front and the office.

"Sleep well?" he asked, grabbing some rags and cleaner.

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?"

Liam didn't quite respond to her question. Instead, he gave an amused smile and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You're very formal, aren't you?"

Before she could even think of a response, Liam had vanished through the doorway again. Shaking herself of her stupor, she returned to her work. It seemed like only a minute had passed when, from behind her while she was pulling a red-hot sword from the forge, there came a voice from behind her.

"Working late again?"

Rhys jerk slightly, surprised, and wheeled around. Liam was standing before her, hands in pockets and dark, twinkling eyes amused. She hadn't even heard him come in, he had just simply appeared. Breathing deeply to steady her pounding heart, still heavy with shock, she began hammering the sword between them.

"I already ate my lunch, I'm fine, thank you," she responded somewhat stiffly after a minute or two.

Liam reached out, took the handle of the now perfectly straight sword from her, and tossed into the vat of cold water. Steam rose up between them as they stared at each other for a moment.

"Good to know," he responded. "But lunch was about eight hours ago."

Rhys broke her gaze from him and looked around, realizing that it was dark. When had this happened?

"I suppose you have another meat pie for dinner?" Liam's voice stirred her from her thoughts and she looked back at him. Gathering her bearings, she gave a nod and retrieved the pie from her pocket once more to show him. "Right," he said, grabbing the pie, unfolding the wax liner and tossing it to Dex. Rhys stared, confused and at a loss for words. "You need real food and some ale. You've been here two whole days and no one can survive more than two or three of Saul's meat pies. Especially in a row. Come on. Come and eat with me."

Rhys hesitated, still looking from the meat pie that was being devoured by her dog to the blazing forge. As if in response to a protest she had yet to make, Liam doused the fire in the forge.

"Wait!" she said, trying to dispel the vapor rising from the forge with her voice. "I… I need to-"

"Please," he said, but it didn't sound like he was really asking. "Look, I'll help you tomorrow morning if you like, to make up for whatever deficit occurs tonight."

"You don't understand. I need this job," Rhys said, her eyes still on the cloud of white rising in front of her. "I need the gold."

"Believe me, the gold is going no where and Paul would be out of his mind to turn you out. I've never seen anyone take to aligning a sword so quickly. But you can't work if you're dead and you can't be alive if you don't eat. Actual food. So, come on. Follow me."

He turned and head out the back of the smithy. Dex, still licking his lips of the meat pie, stood, shook his fur, and followed. At the entrance to the alley leading up to the town square, both paused and glanced back at her.

"Well?"

It was Liam who said it, but Dex might as well have said it too. It was so clearly written on his features.

Rhys sighed, the white cloud of steam still trickling out of the forge, and grabbed her coat before following after the two boys.


	4. Chapter 4

The bar was crowded at this time of night. Crowded and rowdy. There was shrieking laugher and the thick, pungent smell of ale in the air. There were musicians in the corner adding to the chaotic noise in the room and people swearing, dancing, kissing, and yelling. All around them barmaids wove in and out of the crowd, trays of ale-filled mugs poised in their hands held high above the mass of bodies. Liam nimbly made his way through the sea of people and found a small table with two unoccupied chairs. Dex followed close behind him and somewhat behind the dog was Rhys, still regretting not relighting the forge and making some more headway on the pile of weaponry that awaited her.

"Rhys," Liam's voice called out to her and she spotted him, already seated, as the crowd parted momentarily.

Rhys pushed her way through to join him at the table. She sat opposite him and watched as he ordered something. The barmaid smiled and nodded, disappearing to get whatever it was he had asked for. The table they were seated at was somewhat away from the dancing delirious crowd near the entrance and they could hear each other better.

"So," Liam said, leaning forwards. "You're in town for a week or so you said. Why the time limit?"

"I'm waiting for a friend," Rhys replied. It was the truth, if only part of it. "She was delayed on her way to town and I need to wait for her here. I figured I'd stock up on supplies while I was here."

Liam looked as if he knew there was more to the story, but he didn't prod.

At that moment, the barmaid returned, setting down two heaping platters of freshly caught fried fish and two frothing mugs of ale before disappearing into the crowd again. Liam immediately began to eat. Rhys, much slower, picked up her fork and tried the first bite. It was heavenly.

As she chewed, she looked over at Liam. She wasn't very good at small talk, but he had been very kind to her since she had come to Bowerstone and she figured she at least owed him the effort of it.

"So, did your lady friend come to pick up her package this morning?" she asked, latching onto the first thought that had come to her mind.

Liam's brow furrowed in confusion of the lip of his mug. He set the ale down and swallowed before cutting another piece of fish off. "Lady friend?"

"Yes, the pretty blond woman that had the pistol engraved for her brother yesterday."

"Oh. Annabel. Yeah, she came by and picked it up already. She said it was great work."

"Thank you. You did most of it. Or at least, the hardest part." Rhys was very aware of his gaze on her. She felt as if he thought of her as a puzzle that had to be solved. Was she truly that horrible at interacting with people? She had been told by the gypsies that she was on the quiet side, but she never realized to what extent that quiet attitude went. She tried again at small talk. "So, how long have you two… you know."

Liam merely cocked a brow in her direction.

"Known each other," she tried. "Or… been together, I suppose."

Liam barked a laugh at that and shook his head. "Together? With Annabel? Oh, no. She'd like that, but I'm not that stupid."

Rhys was intrigued. "Stupid?"

"Annabel is the type of woman who suffers from a severely twisted self-esteem. To feel good about herself she needs to have her ego constantly stroked and prodded. I don't buy into that kind of narcissistic megalomania. Her persona also involves having others feel inferior to her. For women this means bringing them down with ego crushing schemes and for men this means getting them to pine and idolize her. As I do neither of those, she feels what she believes is an attraction for me, but is nothing more than a subconscious need to make me submit to her ways.

"And besides," he continued. "If I would pander to her and give her all the praise and adoration she so desperately wants, she will simply get bored and search for a brand new challenge in a brand new man. That is hardly the kind of marriage I want. An unfaithful wife is not something I look forward to in my future."

Rhys glanced up at these last remarks, somewhat amused. "So you're looking for a wife?"

Liam gave her a charming, devilish grin. "Looking is a bit much. But I do want one in the future. When the time comes around and the right girl is there to propose to."

Rhys laughed. Liam was easy and open and she felt at ease around him. There was no pretense in his way of being or in his conversation. She readied another forkful of food.

"What were you going to say?" Liam asked suddenly, his voice low and intimate, but still steady enough for her to hear. "When we first met and Paul introduced you to me, you started to say something other than your actual name."

Rhys had frozen as he'd asked the question. He hadn't even needed to add the second part to it, she knew exactly what it was he had been asking about. She stared at her food for moment before looking up at him. She was intending on tell him that she had no idea what he was talking about and denying that it had ever happened. She had intended on saying that it was nothing more than a nervous slip of the tongue. But when she glanced up and caught his gaze, she saw that he was sincere. He had seen the importance of that moment and he genuinely wanted to know more.

"Sparrow," she said softly. "It was what my sister used to call me."

There was a long moment where they sat in silence, staring at each other. She could see the questions forming in Liam's eyes, but he tactfully waited until his brain picked out the most appropriate and important one. Just as he looked about ready to speak, there was a disturbance at the side of their table. They both turned to gaze at the drunken man who had knocked into the table's side and was straightening now.

"I'm so sorry," he slurred, then hiccuped. His hazed and spaced gaze fell on Rhys and he furrowed his brow for a moment before he broke into a wide smile that revealed more than a couple of missing teeth. "Hey, I know you. You're… you're that girl that the bard was talking about. Yeah…"

Rhys lowered her head in a blush. "I'm sorry, I don't know you."

Liam glanced at her, then held a steel arm out to push the drunkard away from their table. He wobbled unsteadily a few feet further back.

"You should go," Liam said in an iron voice, giving the man a look. For once, he looked as dangerous as the scar cutting through his lips made him appear.

But the drunkard wasn't listening. "You're the one who killed Thag! You're the… the Hero of Bower Lake! That's what they're calling you, in'it?"

Rhys turned as the room stilled. The man had been shouting quite loud and it seemed as if the entire tavern was staring at her now. Then someone in the back cheered loudly and everyone else hollered, caught up in the moment once more and returning to their dance and drink. Rhys closed her eyes mortified. Now she'd be known as the vigilante who killed the bandit leader forever. The thought of her sword coming down in a clean, sweeping arc to decapitate the giant of a man was still fresh in her mind. She shook the thought away, embarrassed to be sitting here and making the situation uncomfortable for Liam.

"So, you're the one who took care of Thag," Liam said.

Rhys glanced up at him, surprised by his tone. Instead of one of revulsion, it was one of understanding. He was trying to make her comfortable again. Trying to help her block out the joyous cries and whooping yells from the patrons behind her.

"You… you don't think I'm a freak?" she asked, hesitantly.

Liam shook her head vehemently. "I think that what you did should have been done a long time ago by the people who had the responsibility, but not the courage, to do it. I'm sorry that the task fell on your shoulders. More sorry than I can say. In all honesty, if I had know two days ago that the deed would come to you, I'd have gone out there and dealt with him myself. It is a heavy burden to bear and it pains me that you are the one bearing it."

For some reason, the way he said it, Rhys got the impression that the burden he was referring to entailed more than just the disposal of Thag and his men. She knew that he did not know what it was she had to do and deal with, but he was offering her some comfort and help. He was offering to share the load in whatever small way he could, even if it was just being there when she needed someone to talk to. Liam truly was more complex than he seemed at first.

Liam smiled. "How about round two, eh?"


	5. Chapter 5

As trivial and mundane as the days were, the week and a half that Rhys spent working at the blacksmith's was one of the best she'd had in her life. She was never cold or hungry. She was certainly never lonely. Paul treated her with kindness and a growing affection, as if she were a long lost part of his family.

As for Liam, she'd grown so used to his harmless teasing and sarcasm it was as if they had always been friends. He had done what so few had been able to in her life, make her feel at ease, make her laugh, let her defenses down.

Most of this was accomplished after the night he'd first had her accompany him to dinner. He had made what she had assumed was a passing promise to help her finish the swords she would have missed out on completing if she'd stayed late. She thought this was said to lure her into an earlier night that the one before, but when she'd arrived the next morning, there was a pile of swords awaiting her, a blazing forge, and Liam was in the office.

What she liked most about this friendship was the Liam knew, as if by instinct, how to read her. Sometimes she caught a look on his face when they were talking, as if she were a book, fragile and tattered, that many had tried in vain to read and comprehend before and had failed, leaving their scar upon its surface before leaving in frustration. He, however, saw the challenge and carefully worked it out, little by little. He measured himself, knew when to push and prod and when to left things go. He read her expression, the look in her eyes. Soon Rhys found that she didn't need to say much of anything for him to get a clear and complete response from her.

Neither Liam nor Paul ever brought attention to her deeds either, though they were not blind to them nor deaf to the stories. The people of Bowerstone were egged on immensely whenever she dealt with the odd rabble of vermin or scoundrels and thugs that passed though the town. But no matter how many people told grandiose and often exaggerated tales about her, Liam and Paul did not treat her any differently. She was held to no expectation from them and she was glad of this.

She was happier in the small smithy than she had been for a long time. So when, after nine days time, Theresa's voice spoke as if from nowhere, startling her so badly she dropped a sword and nearly impaled her foot, a certain weight and regret settled firmly in her heart.

"I have returned," Theresa said in her clear, steady tone. "Meet me by the clock tower at midnight."

Rhys had paused, staring blindly down at the red hot sword in her hand, thinking of Theresa's words. Of what they truly meant. The whole time spent in the company of the smithy workers seemed a dream now. A childish fantasy.

"You alright?"

Rhys jerked her head up to look at the owner of the voice. Liam gave her a look, something heavy in his eyes. As if he knew something he couldn't possibly know.

"You look pale," he said, stepping closer, his brow twitching into a slight furrow.

She gave an unconvincing smile. "I'm just hungry is all. I haven't eaten."

He didn't speak for a moment, as if he didn't believe her. But when he spoke, he said nothing to that effect. "You should stop a while then and get something into your stomach. Wouldn't want you passing out."

And just like that, his teasing tone eased the tension in the room and Rhys gave a laugh and obeyed. But the smile didn't linger and for the rest of the day, it was as if she had shut herself down, preparing for what she knew was coming next.

At the end of the day, after Paul had closed shop, Liam stood, leaning against the door. Rhys was hammering away at a rather difficult sword and it was a few moments before she noticed him. She gave a distant twitch of her lips.

"Come and have supper," he said to her, arms crossed over his chest. "It's getting late."

"I can't," she said, pounding out the finishing touches before tossing the sword into the vat of water. "I need another six before I can stop."

She realized too late that she should never have given so specific a number. She felt his gaze heavy on her. It felt as if he was looking through her. She bent to grab the next sword before he could catch the flush on her cheeks. As she set the hammer on the worktable to adjust her grip, his hand dropped on top of hers and she glanced up. Something thick and hot surged in her heart and it took too long to push it down. It did no good to dwell. It did nothing good at all to think of how much she would miss him and everything that he represented. She swallowed the heat in her throat and forced herself to meet his gaze.

"Is something going on?" he asked and his voice was a deep and tense, his dark eyes darting between hers. "You have been strange today."

Another swell of longing for this life, for his constant company and friendship filled her. It was so much harder to push past this second time.

"I'm tired," she finally responded lamely. It was certainly the truth, though not, by far, the whole one. She forced a smile. "I'll get supper soon. I promise."

Liam understood and moved as if to go, though he did not remove his hand from over hers. "If you're sure."

He squeezed her fingers once, lingered a moment longer, then finally moved towards the door, stopping only to bend and pet Dex lovingly. Something about the action made her think once more of him knowing what he couldn't possibly have any idea about.

Liam looked back at her and grinned, warm and familiar, causing her so much more damage than he could ever know. "Join me later if you can."

She returned the smile, hoping against hope that he didn't catch the edges of her lips trembling. "I'll try."

She watched him disappear, staring after him for a long time before finishing the last of her work and cleaning up after herself. Once she was positive that everything was in order, she went to find Paul, who she knew would be in his tiny backroom office.

"Oh, Rhys," he said, glancing up at her. "You're leaving for the night, yeah?"

Paul was not as intuitive as Liam, not by half, but even he looked up knowingly as she said, "I needed you to review my work, if you don't mind. I need to take my pay tonight."

He looked as if he was about to say something, but couldn't think of what. He stood with a nod and grabbed a small book, flipping to a page with her name written out on top. She followed him to the forge where he counted out the swords she had done that day and added the total to a list of numbers. Rhys herself had been keeping count and knew that she'd managed to finish just enough swords to cover the costs of the weapons she'd chosen. Paul tallied up the numbers and walked back out to the main store. She cast one last glance before following him out to the front. He already had her sword in hand and was grabbing the rifle when she stood beside him. He handed her one then the other in turn as she strapped them on.

"You deserve these," he said. He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and pressed it into her hands. "And this."

Rhys felts the muffled weight of gold pieces in the pouch and stared up at him incredulously. "But… I only managed to work enough for-"

"Listen, my girl. Never, _never_, have I had a worker so talented… nor one that I cared for so much. You truly are an incredible person and I am glad to have met you. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you come and find me."

Rhys felt that same remorse and warmth mix in her stomach. She sent him a genuine, though shaky, smile. "Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything."

"You take care of yourself, you understand?"

She nodded heavily. There was so much more she wanted to say, but nothing that she could, so she gave him one last eternally grateful smile and turned, heading out towards her meeting place with Theresa just as the clock tower struck midnight.


End file.
